Twisting Screws
by My-Joyful-Chaos
Summary: A lone clock maker must escape the humanoid, mechanical weaponry the neighboring country throws at her. She finds solace as a member of the crew of an airship. But the war will catch up to her, in stranger ways she could have ever guessed. (Steampunk ahead).
1. Desolation

**Ahem. Uh, hi? This is My-Joyful-Chaos posting a long overdue fanfiction that I thought may something share-able. Well, uh, enjoy(?), I guess.**

 **Disclaimer: Yeah, um, Elsword belongs to KoG and all that. Yeah.**

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Chapter One:  
Desolation

A clock ticked methodically, the needle jolting a small distance every second in it's constant circle. The screwdriver spun in a similar fashion, going around and around until the wielder was satisfied and set it aside.

She peered into the clock's inner workings, at all of it's mechanisms, every gear and spring. And she tweaked. Little adjustments made the biggest difference to a perfectionist such as herself.

Once she had finished fine-tuning, she decided that the clock needed a good bath. It was a bit rusty, with bits of grime in the seams and a dusty face. So she polished it, well enough that it reflected the light of the singular candle glowing on her desk.

The clockmaker wiped her hands of the clock's previous contaminations and sat back down at her sturdy oaken desk. There, a virtually towering pile of other clocks sat awaiting modification. It seemed the entire town's worth of clocks had decided to make a fuss.

She sighed, setting the finished clock to the side before grabbing another to begin working on. Surely the mess of timepieces would take the remainder of the night, and thus the following morning, to clean.

But then, the clock maker would be quick to discover, there would be quite the interruption. Despite this, she continued to work.

It wasn't until a bit past midnight, as told by one of the many finished clocks to the clock maker's side, that this interruption came to pass.

It started as a low grinding, nothing but an annoyance whispering in her ear. Almost like a fly buzzing about. It quickly grew, however, into something far more frightening. After the span of a fat minute had passed, the clock maker, screwdriver still in hand, finally decided to take a peek out the window.

The street looked generally peaceful, not at all unusual, other than the extraordinarily bright light flashing around the corner. In curiosity, she leaned a bit more into the glass, attempting to get a better view.

The source of the light quickly revealed itself. The clockmaker gasped. It was a robot, a large robot, perhaps more than ten feet tall, with a glowing orb where one might locate it's chest.

All-in-all, the clock maker observed, it was rather humanoid, but for the fact that it was made of metal, and was puffing quite a bit of steam from a pipe protruding just a bit out from it's back. It had two arms, two legs, and rotating orb at the top resembling a head. All was connected to the main body, which held a large light surrounded by bars like a cage, by large gleaming bolts.

It was a technology she was unfamiliar with, something entirely alien to the clockmaker. She couldn't stop staring, it was so enrapturing, when it lumbered down the street, passing it's light over nearly everything. Not when it paused under the nearest streetlamp.

Not even when it raised a mechanical arm, looking oddly similar to a Gatling, to point at the nearby town hall. in the next moment, the arm began rotating, shooting projectiles at an almost invisible speed. Immediately, the town was filled with huge sounds, beating on the doors and supports of all the buildings around.

The clock maker put her hands over her ears, still not letting go of the screwdriver whilst cringing at the sounds of bullets beating against the city building, the concrete beginning to shower down in clouds.

The street soon filled with the residents of neighboring buildings, almost blocking the clockmaker's view. And as if the battering sounds of destruction weren't bad enough, the deafening screams of terror ringing throughout the town were far more irksome.

So, the clockmaker ran out onto the street. The noises of chaos became that much more earsplitting, but the clockmaker ignored it. She looked about, seeing the terror stricken faces of citizens attempting to escape, the cloud of smoke rising from some unknown buildings in the background, and the large humanoid robot still wearing away at the concrete city building.

Despite the pushing of the crowd, the clockmaker started towards it. Screaming surrounded her, elbows constantly jabbing, bodies continuously jostling together. They pushed her away, down to the cobbled street. She landed hard, but still somehow managed to dodge the kicking feet and pumping knees of the townsfolk.

The clock maker found the sidewalk, and crawled into a nearby alleyway. She remained there as the crowd gradually began to thin, nursing the bruises and scratches and scrapes gained from being underfoot the, albeit small, horde of citizens.

Once the crowd appeared navigatable, the clockmaker finally rose to peek out from the alleyway.

A mess. Smoky, dusty clouds rose from the entire town. The sky was painted dirty rather than it's usual star-dotted inkiness. Someone, several solitary someones, were screaming a frightening choir, almost in sync. Many lay on the cobbles, the kicked up, overturned, dirty cobbles beneath, moaning and nursing wounds.

The focal point of this entire scene was the great mechanical weapon, standing where it had been the entire time. It's strange orb of a head twisted about to survey the scene before one hinged leg rose to plant itself a bit ahead. Then started up a solid rythm, the grinding noise of one mechanical leg rising, halting at it's peak, and slamming into the cobbles below.

It walked slowly, jerkily towards the clockmaker. She would have moved, should have moved, but she stood transfixed. Fascinated. As if, with the very screwdriver she held in her hand, she could disassemble it, figure it's inner workings out. But she couldn't. She could only stand there, peeking shyly from behind the corner of a brick building.

It lumbered on, not even pausing when it was less then five feet away. From that distance, the clockmaker could see the bolts, the welded creases, some gears poking out from it's frame. It just continued it's up, pause, down rythm, never missing a beat. It's footfalls shook the cobbles, shook the bricks, shook the buildings, shook the clock maker's knees 'til she had to fall to them.

The Clock maker realized, then, that her little shop, just across the street, had collapsed to it's knees, also. The entire structure in shambles, broken clocks spewing from the dangling-from-one-hinge door.

And she thought, 'What now?'

Around her, the town was slowly deteriorating. The already ancient buildings, the old clocktower, the only new building, the city hall, all just crumbling to bits. The bits and pieces hanging, shaking, falling at every footfall of the robotic beast of a machine.

So, she stayed in her alleyway, with the company of a few cast out garbage bags, rats, and the smell of decay everywhere. Maybe she fell asleep, but she found she really culdn't remember in the morning. Everything was foggy, like the remains of the town, it's bits ground to dust, clouded her head.

She stood up, though, from her position on the cobblestone street, and walked to her beaten down little shop. One last look, one last sadness, before she allowed herself to let it go.

Then, she just turned to look down the street, not bothering to survey her surroundings again, and began walking. She didn't trip or stumble or feel the ache in her feet. Not once did she pause, hesitation never came. She just walked past the sad, sagging, disintegrating buildings with no words to breath out.

And finally, after stepping out of the city's farthest limits, she looked back.

Desolation. Ruin. Death.

The screwdriver felt heavy in her hand, but the clock maker gripped it harder, knuckles whitening, and turned to face the rest of the world now unfolding before her.

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 **Confession time: The mecha thing in this was almost completely inspired by Bioshock :/ except bigger, and less rusted, and not accompanying a creepy little girl.**

 **I hope this was enjoyable, and I also hope that I somehow dig deep and manage to continue this because I think steampunk is definitely an enjoyable genre ^^;. Expect airships and mechanical appendages, though I suppose both of those are kind of already included in Elsword, aren't they? Huh.**

 **Goodbye for now,**

 **~My-Joyful-Chaos**


	2. Desperation

**'Eeeyy, this is MJC back with a, once again, overdue chapter, eheh. It is one of my greatest hopes that the reader (you) enjoy this fictional creation of mine~.**

 **Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own Elsword, KoG, blahblahblah.**

Chapter Two:  
Desperation

It was hot. Scorching rays of pure heat beat against the clock maker's back. Sweat dripping down her neck despite the screen of snowy hair hanging limply off her shoulders.

This sort of heat had never been experienced before, always there had been the comfortable shelter of her little office full of that constant comforting ticking. Out here, in the midst of a desert whose horizon only ever seemed to lengthen, there was complete, suffocating silence.

Multiple times it occurred that the clock maker had to pause, kneel down, and scoop her little screwdriver from the sandy rocks below her feet as it kept slipping from her grasp, her hand was so slick. Wiping the sweat on her coarse over shirt did little to dry it, as the sweat only accumulated more.

The daylight seemed never ending, as constant as the ticking still echoing in the clock maker's distant thoughts. The comfort of dark now seeming more like a wonderful dream of the past.

Yet, somehow, the darkness still came, and with the moon came a frightening chill. Though it took hours to fully overtake the sandy landscape, soon the clock maker was feeling a new, yet similarly unfamiliar extreme.

The moon cast down a beautiful path traversing up and down the forever shifting dunes. The clock maker felt compelled to follow this path, for really no particular reason. It was attractive, the cold eeriness of moonlight.

Yet, as day had rotated over to night, night also steadily switched with day once again. The sun, peeking innocently over the horizon, only fueled the clock maker's shivers with a fear of the heat to come.

The sun gently arose from it's horizontal grave. While, on a day of norm, the clock maker would have enjoyed the dawn's quiet greeting, on the morning, she dreaded the thought of overheating, of melting, of breaking down.

And somehow, her fears never became reality.

She walked a bit farther, and then even further, and perhaps just a few more steps before her knees finally buckled a bit. Her stability skewed, the clock maker tumbled down a particularly risen dune, grains of sand seeming to lodge themselves into all her nooks and joints.

Halting in a face-up star, the sky seemed boring to her. Emptiness stretching out for eternity before the blazing orb of the sun which left red dots in her vision. Well, there was one black speck, blocking the light of the sun just barely.

Wait.

With a creaking emanating from nearly all of her limbs, the clock maker pushed herself up onto heavy feet. A hand over her eyes, she spied the speck, a speck that was growing at ferocious rates.

Automatically, with survival barely touching her conscious, the clock maker dashed forward, stumbling and flailing with every other step.

Before too long, she was halted directly beneath the now gargantuan speck. Up close, it was distinguishable, though, the clock maker didn't realize that air ships were made so small.

From her view, the clock maker could clearly see whirring propellers attached to the bottom of the flying, wooden ship; two long, canvas wings flapping in the wind. A trailed of smoke diligently followed one of the lower propellers, a detail quickly escaping her thoughts in the presence of the awesome sight before her.

The airship had been moving quickly before, but now it seemed sluggish. The clock maker watched in awe as the ship gently floated over her, the shadow a blessing against the sun.

But, had the ship always been so close to the ground? For the past few moments, the clock maker had not thought much about her own self-preservation due to the distraction of a giant airship flying directly overhead, but now it had the entirety of her attention.

In another mad dash, she quickly caught up to the slowly descending ship. The closer it came to the ground, the further from it she moved, before she was once again exposed to the sun.

And, in an almost-frozen moment, the ship finally connected with the earth.

The moment ended, and with the next came a shower of sand meeting the clock maker's body. Shaking it off, the clock maker stepped forward whilst rubbing the grit from her eyes.

The airship was just as awe striking on the ground as it was in the sky. Now the clockmaker could clearly see three masts hold fluttering sails, but no flag. They were pirates.

Voices suddenly arose from the deck, shouts hardly resonating in the open air yet still reaching the clock maker's sand filled ears.

"What happened?!"

"Did Raven fall asleep at the wheel again?"

"I did not."

"Pah, lies!"

The clock maker blinked, unsure of what to do. Confront these yelling air pirates? Sneak on board as a stow away? Stay in the sun to die of heat, or exhaustion, or dehydration, or starvation, or however else you can die in the middle of a desert so vast (there really weren't many options).

"Somebody please check the hull!" Someone yelled, sounding vaguely irritated, and soon two pairs of feet met the sand next to the hulking wooden mass. It didn't take long for two sets of eyes to find the clock maker.

"Uh... Captain...?" The blonde one warily drew the gun strapped at his hip while calling out.

"For El's sake what is it now?" The captain, an obnoxiously red-haired boy peered over the edge of the airship to leer down.

"Who are you?" The question seemed to be aimed at the clock maker, but her mind dodged it easily. She stood frozen, despite the heat.

"The hell's she? Some robot?" The captain muttered, bringing a hand up to his temple. "Helllooooo? Anybody in there?" The third one stepped forward, his crisp white boots sinking easily into the sand. This time, however, the clock maker registered the question.

"I-" Before any more than a syllable left her mouth, the clock maker was overtaken with a jarringly violent coughing fit. So ferocious was it she fell to her knees. After the hacking finally ceased, she opened her mouth again.

"I need help."

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Sitting in the dank cabin was not pleasant, but it won out over standing in the heat. The stares of the airship's crew didn't assist in alleviating the clock maker's discomfort, but it was once again far preferable than remaining outside.

"So, you said you needed some help, huh?" The red haired captain sat leisurely across from her, his booted feet resting atop the desk lying between them. The clock maker nodded, her expression unchanging. "Help with what, is the real question?" The captain smiled, though not in a kind way, at her.

"I desire passage to the nearest establishment of civilization, please." She was not impolite.

"Hah! If you wan'a ride, than you're gonna have to work for it." Once again the smile, the clock maker officially labeled it as passive aggression.

"I will do what I can." Despite the growth of the conversation, every other crew member but the captain remained silent.

"In what way? What do you do?"

"I assemble, and repair time pieces." The clock maker raised her hand, still gripping the screw driver, as proof. The captain laughed, accompanied by a few light chuckles from the crew members.

"How is that supposed to be of any use to us?" The clock maker thought a moment.

"Perhaps I am capable of assisting in any repairs needed might this vessel be damaged." She twirled the screw driver in her hand.

"Prove it." The captain grinned, once again not in a pleasant way, indicating his obvious skepticism. The clock maker nodded, her face never changing.

"I shall."

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 **I'm just gonna throw it out there that if my fellow Steampunk writer Rosa(manelle) had not reviewed I doubt I would have even attempted to finish this chapter quq. I quite literally(not) typed up a storm and wrote everything, excepting the first three paragraphs, in about an hour, but you know, whateverrr.**

 **Unyielding thanks to Rosa, and HelloKitty55442(still a diligent reader I see. I swear I see you on every fic I write TTwTT so touching) for the lovely reviews. Thank you's also to my two followers and three favoriters(of which I will keep anonymous)~!**

 **I shall stop before this becomes an irksomely long Author's Note.**

 **Goodbye for now,**

 **~My-Joyful-Chaos**


	3. Solution

**Heh, been awhile, hasn't it? Ahhh, if only I were a bit more punctual.**

 **To be perfectly honest, the, um, character revamp(?) is really what inspire me to write this chapter(although it was half written months ago)**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Elsword, it belongs to KoG, etc. etc.**

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Chapter Three:  
Solution

Surrounded once again by an overabundance of sand, the clock maker stood in silent contemplation.

"Well?" The captain asked, his demeanor snarky.

"It is damaged." The clock maker stated, gesturing apathetically at the propeller before her.

"No shit, rusty." The firey headed boy spoke, exasperation heavy on his tongue. The clock maker didn't acknowledge the title he'd dubbed her, but rather further approached the propeller. "Can you fix it?"

The clock maker didn't answer, just continued her distanced inspection. The mechanism seemed to have been pushed far beyond it's capacity. To quote the captain, it was, "rusty." Rusty, unstable, and a bit crookedly placed.

The tip of her beloved screw driver gently made contact with the clock maker's lower lip as she thought.

"Perhaps." The rest of the airship's crew were a few yards behind the clock maker and captain, apprehension clouding over the group.

"Perhaps? _Perhaps?_ What use is a mechanic who isn't sure of herself?" A girl, cheerful lavender pigtails adorning the top of her head, despite her scowling expression, spoke indignantly. "Why would you even give her a chance, Els-" A hot glare from the captain (Els?) silenced her quickly enough.

"Because, _someone,_ actually, _two someones_ don't know ship repair when it's staring them straight in the eye," 'Els' cast a hard look at the blond boy with the guns, and the man with the pin straight posture and unrealistically spotless white boots, "or straight down the barrel of a gun."

"Hey, I specialize in weapon maintenance, not century-old airships." The blond threw his hands up, two brown tipped tufts of hair seeming to twitch in annoyance.

"Yeah? And what's your excuse Add?" The other one stiffened slightly.

"I don't have to answer to a twelve year old brat who thinks he can control a group of pirates." Els scowled, but didn't openly retaliate.

"You won't be saying that when we drop you off at the nearest train station." Els muttered to himself bitterly. The clock maker wasn't really sure why this Add person would be peeved by a train station, but the Captain had said it with such intensity she decided it must have been a suitable threat. That was the human part of her kicking in.

"This piece is not functional. It needs to be replaced." She stated this without looking away from the propeller. "I am quite surprised you all had not noticed before. The base is clearly damaged to the point of nearly snapping and these screws holding it in place are even more so." She continued, pulling one of the screws connecting the base of the propeller to the ship and snapping it almost effortlessly between her fingers.

Once again, Els looked back at the only two people in his crew that seemed to have any experience in repairs, disappointed.

"I swear, even Raven could have figured this out if we let him." At the mention of his name, a dark haired man jolted into a stiff posture. He yawned in recognition, but didn't seem to be completely awake. "Mm," Was his only response. He almost immediately fell into a slouch.

"For El's sake, can we please _try_ to address the issue at hand?" The pigtail girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "It's just a constant argument with all of you." During this tense conversation, the clock maker had put herself to use, unscrewing any screw that didn't break at the contact of her screwdriver from the propeller, and heaving the damaged machinery down to the sandy ground below.

"Is there any scrap metal that could possibly be converted into a new propeller?" The clock maker inquired, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew.

"I may have some, let me check." The blond boy offered, dashing towards the rope ladder dangling airily from the airship's railing.

"If ya can't find any, just grab one of Raven's useless arms!" Once again, said dark haired man jolted at Els' the mention of his name, but recognition of what had actually been said left no impression on his face. It was at this moment that the Clock Maker noticed a mechanical arm attached to Raven at the shoulder.

"Um, even if Chung does find some scrap metal, how would we convert it into the propeller?" A taller girl, with impressive long black hair, and an equally (if not more so) impressive bust spoke, her voice soft and accented. The clock maker realized she hadn't even noticed this girl before. Everyone turned to her, and her face immediately flushed.

The clock maker blinked. She hadn't quite worked out a solution, so she offered no answer.

"Alchemy?" The pigtail girl spoke again, her violet eyes glaring holes into the propeller.

"Nobody here knows alchemy, dimwit." The captain snapped, causing the pigtails girl to growl indignantly in his direction.

"Who says _I_ don't?"

"Your last attempt at making dinner!"

"Hey!" Before the two arguing pirate's had the chance to tear each other's throats out, a song-like voice called out from the airship, causing all present to turn and look. "Knock it off!" The voice belonged to easily the most beautiful woman the clock maker had ever seen. The woman disappeared a moment later into the hull of the ship, her blonde(although it could also be described as a very bright green) trailing behind her. The two bickering crew mates halted, although begrudgingly, in their hostility.

At this point, Chung had reappeared, and began climbing the ladder once again, this time in order to descend.

"Are you able to perform alchemy?" The clock maker turned to the pigtail girl, skepticism hidden under her stoicism.

"W-well, a little. I mean, I'm sure I could figure it out!" The clock maker noted that this girl did not seem to hold much confidence in her voice. Despite this, she walked forward purposefully, and grabbed the propeller, none too gently. "It may take a bit though."

"We're seriously leaving this up to grape head?" Els' narrowed eyes flicked between the propeller, the clock maker, and the pigtail girl.

"I have a name! It's Aisha!" With a scowl, Aisha held the propeller eye level and studied it closely. "Do you know what the components of that piece of crap you're holding are, Chung?" Chung looked down upon the scrap with a frown, disregarding Aisha's disrespect towards the metal.

"I'm pretty sure it's just iron, just a little rusted."

"Is that it?"

"I think so, why?" Aisha rolled her eyes.

"If there's any foreign matter I am unaware of, the transmutation won't work. It's like trying to bake a cake with unknown ingredients. You should know this!" Chung looked down sheepishly before handing the metal over.

"If there're only trace amounts, will it make a difference?"

"I suppose not." Aisha spoke with a sigh, setting the propeller onto the sand gently. "Give it here?" Chung handed the piece of scrap to Aisha who promptly set it next to the propeller.

"Will the sand not get in the way?" The girl with the accent queried.

"It's fine!" Aisha exclaimed, impatience showing clearly on her face. "Just everyone shut up already!" She lowered herself to the ground with a huff, raising up a small cloud of sand particles. As she focused, Chung turned to the girl with the accent, who appeared a bit upset.

"Don't worry Ara, Aisha's just overreacting." After those words of comfort, the ground suddenly lit up with a faint purple glow around Aisha. She stared hard at the piece of scrap, which seemed to twist and bend under her glare.

"Finally she shows some use." Els muttered, crossing his arms. The piece of scrap metal had stretched out into a strainer of sorts, letting all sand and excess waste(such as the rust that previously had been the metal's most charming feature) before once resuming it's mutation. After what seemed a long several minutes, the piece of scrap had gloriously transformed into an almost identical propeller.

"Woah, Aisha, maybe you _are_ good for something other then running my ear off!" Els exclaimed sarcastically. Without any words, the clock maker grabbed the propeller, fit it into the slot from which the previous propeller was removed, and pulled out a few stray screws from her trouser pocket(of which she always had on her person, even during sleep) and hastily began to secure it into place.

Once finished, she stepped back, presenting her handiwork to the crew.

"Oh, it's fixed." Ara smiled, looking impressed.

"Honestly, we would've notice eventually, and easily have repaired it." Els laughed. "But I guess we'll still have to repair you. We'll fly you to the next town over." The clock maker nodded.

"Thank you." She bowed politely in slight gratitude(although she still doubted such a rag tag crew would have really noticed the damage without her).

"Hey, what's your name?" Chung suddenly asked, enthusiasm giving a slight lilt to his voice.

"I am the clock maker, Eve." The clock maker responded with a stoic expression.

"Alright Eve, welcome aboard the Elship!"

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 **I can't really say I'm satisfied with this chapter. I really feel I, excused my language, half-assed it. I also apologize for my lack of mechanical knowledge, I still am not entirely sure why I decided to write Steampunk when I really know nothing about machines or anything, I really just make most crap up TTuTT**

 **Other then that, Aisha got a lot of "screen time," as per usual! I really don't mean to make this an Aisha-centric story, but I really do love her, so apologize ahead of time if she gets more than her fair share of attention. Also, I don't really remember if I already mentioned this, but I doubt there will be any heavy ships present during this(maybe light fluff) but we'll see.**

 **Big thanks to Astaria Mel Kanariane, Rosa, Ilyscia, and HelloKitty55443 for the lovely reviews~! And also to my 3 favorites and 4 followers! You're all the best QUQ**

 **Um, I believe that's all I wanted to mention. Apologies for the lateness of this chapter(as always) and I hope to update soon(but don't count on it)!  
**

 **Goodbye for now,**

 **~MJC**


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